


it wouldn't be make believe

by infinituity



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-06 23:23:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinituity/pseuds/infinituity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"By the way, dude," he says, and he reaches down both to grab his notepad as well as to avoid looking at Hermann, "my parents think we're dating."</p>
<p>Instead of the expected angry yelling, he gets only silence in response, so he looks up to see Hermann opening his mouth to speak, reconsidering, closing it, and repeating. After several more repeats than strictly necessary, he sighs and slumps down in his seat.</p>
<p>"Of course they do," he says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it wouldn't be make believe

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Nous ne saurions nous feindre](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2708069) by [Causerie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Causerie/pseuds/Causerie)



> thanks to ghastlyghosties and lakehymn for all their support and betaing, and also thanks to val-kiri on tumblr for help with the german!
> 
> [Causerie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Causerie/pseuds/Causerie) translated this into French here: [Nous ne ne saurions nous feindre](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2708069)! (i don't know why it says it's in english up at the top there)

"I've been _busy_ ," Newt is saying, even as he shuffles piles of papers covered in kaiju guts and the kind of calculations he pretends he doesn't understand when Hermann's around.

"Too busy for your mother?" Mrs. Geiszler says from the holo-display on the other side of the desk. With her arms crossed, she is much more intimidating than her five-foot stature should allow. Mr. Geiszler makes a petulant noise behind her, and she amends, "Or your father?"

"Ma –-" Newt starts, and really this sheet is actually Hermann's, that can't be good.

"It has been years since we've spoken, Newton," his mother interrupts. "Years."

Newt looks up from the page and says, "I don't know if you noticed, but I did save the whole world, pretty recently in fact." He sets Hermann's numbers down on the desk, separate from his own piles, and fights back a groan when he realizes he should probably make sure it's the only one he has. "Besides," he continues, "I'm talking to you now, aren't I?"  

She sighs and shares a highly suspect look with his father. It's a look that means bad things for Newt, the kind of things that had kept him logged out of Skype for the aforementioned years. And sure enough, "We know that you've been doing some very important work," his mother says, "and your father and I are very, very proud of you for it." Here comes the punchline: "But we're worried that you've neglected your personal life in order to do it."

"I don't -–" Newt splutters, and he stands up with an indignant screech of his chair against the floor. "Just what exactly are you asking here?" He knows exactly what they mean, of course, but it would not do to admit that.

"What your mother is trying to say," Mr. Geiszler says, putting a hand on his wife's shoulder, "is, do you have a girlfriend?" He stops and thinks for a second. "Or a boyfriend?" Mrs. Geiszler looks at Newt expectantly.

"God, Dad," Newt starts, but he doesn't have the chance to launch into an explanation about exactly why he isn't seeing anyone –- which, by the way, is mostly due to the way no one can stand to be around him, followed closely by the fact that his thing for kaijus freaks people out –- because his bedroom door slams open with a reverberating, metallic clang.

"Newton. Geiszler." Hermann says, his face flushed an unearthly shade of red. "You have had nearly eleven months to clean up your side of the lab –-"

"Hermann," Newt tries to say, but he only gets an accusatory finger pointed in his direction.

"Eleven months! And not only have you neglected to remove a single kaiju specimen -–"

"I'm still running experiments! I can't just -–"

"That is exactly my point! We only have a week before the labs are to be transferred to -–"

"I can get it done on time, I always do!"

"Just because you have been right in the past does not mean that –-"

"Really? Because that's what your numbers would suggest, isn't it?"

"A single data point is insufficient -–"

"Your field of study is insufficient -–"

"Must you be so childish, Newton?"

"Must you be so -–"

"Newton!" Hermann's face is beet red by now, and not red like the metaphorical beet, but like an actual beet, so really kind of purple and unappetizing. Not that Hermann's face is usually particularly appetizing, that's not the point.

The point is that it is not a healthy color, and he should probably stop yelling sometime soon before he passes out or something.

So Newt sighs and says, "Look, Hermann, just worry about your own shit, and I'll handle mine, okay?"

Hermann narrows his eyes, but he doesn't yell when he says, "When you are capable of keeping your 'shit' away from my work, then I will consider -–" He cuts off abruptly, his eyes fixed on some point in space.

After a moment, he glances over at Newt and then back. Newt, though thoroughly confused, knows when to take a hint, and follows Hermann's gaze back towards the desk. Where the holo-display is still occupied by Newt's parents, who are valiantly attempting to hold back their amusement.

"Oh, uh," Newt says, "Hermann, parents; parents, Hermann."

"Well, hello," his mother manages.

Hermann straightens up and refuses to look at Newt. "I apologize for the intrusion," he says to Newt's parents. "I must be on my way." He turns stiffly toward the door, but he doesn't manage to exit the room before Newt is scrambling over to him, page of calculations in hand.

"This got mixed up in my notes, sorry," he says, and stuffs it at Hermann's face.

Hermann takes it gingerly and glares over his shoulder at Newt as he says, "Thank you," dully and then, finally, leaves the room with the slam of the door behind him.

Newt grins sheepishly at his parents and says, "So, that was my partner, Hermann."

"Oh," Newt's father says, "you should have mentioned you were seeing someone earlier."

"Wh–-" Newt starts, but his mother interrupts.

"Yes, it could have saved us all much... embarrassment."

"I don't –-" And then he understands what his parents are saying, and oh. Oh god. He momentarily tries to imagine a world where he and Hermann could be _dating_ and utterly fails. Nope, there's just no way. So it is a complete surprise to Newt when, instead of saying what he means, that Hermann is his _lab_ partner, nothing more, what comes out of his mouth is, "Well, maybe you should have given me the chance to tell you before starting the Spanish Inquisition?"

His parents share a fond look, and his mother turns back to him and says, "Do you think he would like to come over for the holidays?" And then, "You are coming home for Christmas, aren't you?"

Newt sighs. "Of course I'm coming home, Ma. And I'll see what Hermann's plans are." At his parents' happy grins, he warns, "He's probably busy; don't get your hopes up."

His parents continue to share their stupid grins.

 

 

***

 

Newt is no stranger to avoiding doing shit he doesn't want to do. So the solution to his problem is pretty clear: all he has to do is not ask Hermann to come for Christmas, and then tell his parents that Hermann was busy. It's a classic move, the adult equivalent of telling a friend your mother won't let you stay over, even though you never asked her. It is a mindbogglingly simple plan.

That should have been an indication that he couldn't possibly succeed.

It's two days later in the mess hall, and Newt has his mouth stuffed full of food as Tendo talks about the complicated process involved in choosing a Christmas present that his son will never remember receiving. When he's done regaling the inexplicably interested audience around the table, Mako launches into a similar story about how she and Raleigh chose their vacation spot for the holidays.

The only person who doesn't seem interested is Hermann, who sits hunched over his tray of food without touching any of it. He's staring blankly ahead, and before Newt can reconsider, he's bumping Hermann with his shoulder, who startles like he's been woken suddenly from a dream.

"What about you, Hermann?" Newt asks around the food in his mouth, as Mako finishes her story. "Any plans for the holidays?"

Hermann blinks slowly and says, "I intend to celebrate in the same manner I have for the past fifteen years."

"But," Newt starts, then swallows, "you never do anything for Christmas."

Hermann blinks again and stares at Newt the way he usually does, like Newt is the stupidest person on earth.

"Right." Newt takes another bite of food, and then says, "Why don't you come spend Christmas with my family?" As soon as he says it, all conversation at the table stops, and he realizes exactly how monumentally stupid of an idea it was. What if he says yes, and his brilliant plan to keep Hermann away from his parents fails? And worse, what if he says no? What if Hermann is so opposed to his company that he would rather be all alone for Christmas? Wait, why does he care about this?

In short, that sentence was a disaster, but Newt is going to have to live with it.

"Are you certain that I would be welcome?" Hermann asks, and Newt realizes that they've just spent half a minute staring at each other.

"Oh, yeah, totally," he says before he thinks too hard about it. "My parents really want to meet you."

Hermann frowns, probably considering how that was even possible after their earlier run-in, but he only says, "Then I shall consider your offer."

"Cool," Newt says, before he can say something even stupider than the rest of this conversation.  The ordinary level of noise resumes around them, but it's still a few moments before he remembers to look away.

 

 

***

 

Newt dreams in blue.

He stands in front of a chalkboard covered in numbers and variables, and he mentally writes the code that will transform the equations into an understandable visual model. He ignores someone singing along badly to the blaring music and he ignores the bit of shimmering blue kaiju entrails that land on an equals sign and he ignores the fondness that threatens to overtake his concentration.

He watches in horror as the needle nears his skin, but his panic isn't enough for him to yell stop, it never is. It's the same panic he feels before pressing the button that very well could kill him, and it isn't enough then, either. And it's the same panic he feels running through the streets of Hong Kong, and he still doesn't stop.

He carefully glues the plastic back to itself, trying to remove all evidence of damage. Maybe this time he'll be the only one who knows how badly his plane had been broken and he won't get any looks of pity or of contempt. It will be as good as new.

It isn't the same panic he feels when staring down Otachi in the shelter, because that panic makes him stop. He freezes in the cold and the wet and the dark and he stares at the gargantuan face staring back. _Finally, a real live kaiju_ , he doesn't think, because he is beyond thought. The panic runs so deep that he doesn't even feel fear as she extends her beautiful, grotesque tongue that lights up the dark around them.

It's the same panic, though, that he feels when he finds himself alone in the lab, the makeshift Pons he built from garbage connecting him to that kaiju brain fragment. Again he doesn't stop, rips it from his head and cradles him in his arms and panics until he feels himself breathing.

There is no panic as he fights his way to the top, and then through the Breach to the human dimension. There is no panic as he tears into these strange machines the humans send after him, and there is no panic as he crashes through the wall. There is no panic as he faces down another machine, and there is no panic as his body shuts down and self-destructs. There is no panic.

Newt wakes up covered in sweat and feeling, as he does most mornings, like he is suddenly and jarringly incomplete.

 

 

***

 

Newt is sitting on the floor and scribbling on a torn piece of paper as he compares wet slides. Judging by the steady plopping sound behind him, kaiju blood is leaking from the specimen on his desk. He should probably clean it up, but it's not like Hermann is gonna come in and complain about it any time soon. He'd packed up the last of his shit the day before.

So it is somewhat of a surprise when Newt hears the lab door open, followed by the distinctive sound of Hermann making his way toward him.

"I'll clean it up, okay?" Newt says, but he doesn't look up from his notes. He also doesn't get a response, so he switches to another slide. This one shows significantly higher levels of activity, so he makes a note to get a TEM micrograph of it later.

Hermann clears his throat, and wow how did he get so close without Newt realizing?

"Uh, what?" Newt asks, pushing his glasses up as he glances at Hermann. He's expecting to get chewed out –- he really does have to be out of the lab in a few days, he shouldn't still be working but he's so close to figuring this out -– but he doesn't see anger on Hermann's face. If anything, he looks a little... lost. Like he doesn't know why he's here any more than Newt does.

So Hermann stands straight as a pole and says, "Inform your parents that I shall be attending your holiday celebrations." And then he turns to leave without waiting for Newt's response.

"Uh," Newt says again, intelligently, and Hermann continues to walk away. "I'll let them know!" he manages before Hermann leaves the room.

The lab door scrapes shut behind him and Newt stares at the closed door for a few moments before getting back to his slides. What in the world was that about?

Well, whatever it was, it isn't nearly as important as understanding kaiju cellular respiration, so Newt gets back to work.

 

 

***

 

The next four days pass in a flurry of motion throughout the Shatterdome. By the end of the week, every single thing in the 'dome is packed and ready to go, even the microwaves. Newt may or may not have wheeled a large specimen out literally moments before it needed to be gone, but he also figured out how kaijus process energy, so that incident isn't worth mentioning. And what really isn't worth mentioning is how Hermann spent his time, since he was doing absolutely nothing, so far as Newt could tell. Or he might have been writing a paper on his predictive model.

Both actions would have been completely useless, but whatever floats his boat, man.

With Newt doing so much work, and with Hermann out of the lab, they haven't had the chance to talk again until just now, as they settle into their seats on the plane. It's the first commercial flight either of them has been on in years, so Newt fidgets and drums his fingers against the armrest until they've taken off. It's suddenly very unnerving to be in the air without being able to see the pilot.

Hermann rolls his eyes and pulls out his computer, and Newt chooses this precise moment to remember the kind of situation they are flying toward.

"By the way, dude," he says, and he reaches down both to grab his notepad as well as to avoid looking at Hermann, "my parents think we're dating."

Instead of the expected angry yelling, he gets only silence in response, so he looks up to see Hermann opening his mouth to speak, reconsidering, closing it, and repeating. After several more repeats than strictly necessary, he sighs and slumps down in his seat.

"Of _course_ they do," he says, like the fate of the world has been unexpectedly placed on his shoulders, like it hasn't been there before, like he hadn't taken it upon himself to shoulder it when Newt was just fine carrying it alone until suddenly he wasn't, like. Like he has somehow brought this upon himself as well. "I suppose you want me to play along?"

Newt smiles in a way that could be construed as apologetic, by someone who has never met Newt.

Hermann throws up his hands. "Why not?" he asks the plane's ceiling. It, predictably, does not answer, so Newt counts it as a win and smiles as he clicks his pen obnoxiously.

  


It's eight hours in, and Newt has covered himself in pages torn from his notepad as soon as he was finished with them. As Hermann had plonked steadily on his old laptop –- again working on that paper, though honestly, there was no guarantee that any future Breach might follow the exact same pattern that theirs did, it's insane to think that it would -– Newt had spent his time doodling molecules and kaiju. If he could find some kind of compound that would have the same effect on kaijus as cyanide has on most terran creatures, then… He gets distracted before he can finish the thought most of the time, moving to sketch the tentacles on Leatherback's head or the huge eyes of the baby until he gets bored with that, too.

And he has been doing this for eight hours, and he has torn out half the pages from his notepad, and he has been on this one for half an hour without getting bored. He scribbles and shades and covers up some likely poison candidates and the page is blue with ink but it isn't the right kind of blue he should have brought more pens he –-

"Is that Otachi?" Hermann says, and Newt jerks up so suddenly that he drags a long dark line across the page with him.

"Huh?" he says, turning to Hermann with wide, wild eyes.

"Are you drawing Otachi?" Hermann repeats, slowly, as if speaking to a child or a particularly dense dog.

Newt blinks and it occurs to him that he has no idea what he was just drawing, so he looks down at the page. Sure enough, Otachi's tongue twists around the page, opening up like a flower in the center, beautiful and terrifying. He shivers looking at it, so he looks back up.

"Yeah, I guess," he says, and Hermann hums a little in response, half smiling, like a hypothesis of his was just proven to be correct. Newt considers that, and reaches a strange conclusion: "How did you know that?" he asks, eyes narrowed.

Hermann has the good sense to look guilty, but he also doesn't stop it with his stupid half smile. Like he has anything to be happy about from recognizing something he's never seen.

Newt glares, but without much heat because all of a sudden he's feeling very strange. Like his stomach is full of rocks, maybe, or like he is too small for his skin. He's warm all over, and really, he remembers airplanes being so much colder, but that was almost ten years ago by now, so who knows. Whatever is happening to him doesn't appear to be happening to Hermann, and that is the true injustice of the universe.

"I'm thinking of getting it tattooed on my dick," he says, even though the thought hadn't been in his head until it came out of his mouth, because it is a much better idea than dwelling on his _feelings_.

"Must you be so crude?" Hermann sighs, but his eyes are still smiling, smiling even more, even as his mouth starts to argue with Newt.

Later, Hermann yawns his way through, "Mathematics is the only accurate descriptor of," yawn "reality so I don't," yawn "see why you are so opposed," until Newt interrupts him, and he still feels warm. But, now that he thinks about it, he isn't _overly_ warm, or _uncomfortably_ warm, just. Warm.

Hermann is using his computer to prop himself up, so that he can argue even while falling asleep, and Newt feels warm.

Hermann starts to blink slower and slower until he doesn't bother to open his eyes again, and Newt thinks maybe being warm isn't so bad. He doesn't notice how fondly he's smiling.

 

 

***

 

"This is going to be a disaster," Hermann is saying to himself, and he's tugging on the bottom of his dorky sweater vest, and Newt has to suppress the urge to grab his hand and make him stop.

"It's gonna be fine," he says instead, because they're on his parents' front porch and _it is going to be fine_.

"They're never going to believe," Hermann mutters, then starts again, "I don't even know how to –-"

"Hermann." Newt takes a step toward him, but Hermann takes a simultaneous step backward. Unfortunately, the porch isn't quite large enough to accommodate that step, and Newt has to grab him by the wrist before he tumbles to the ground. "Hermann, calm down," Newt says as he pulls him back onto steady footing.

"But what if –- Your parents are going to _hate_ me, Newton," Hermann says, and Newt realizes he hasn't let go of his wrist, and that his wrist is trembling. Hermann is scared, and Hermann wasn't scared when there had been a very real possibility of _the world ending_. This is weird, to say the least.

"Why would my parents hate you?" Newt asks, and he subconsciously pulls Hermann a little closer. It's actually a pretty small porch, now that he thinks about it.

" _You_ hated me," Hermann says, and Newt really would have something to say to that, but he doesn't have the chance.

Because the door swings open and Mrs. Geiszler stands with a fondly annoyed look on her face. "Are you planning on standing on my porch all day, Doctor Geiszler?" she says. "If not, I'm sure you knew we had a doorbell."

"Ma," Newt says, and as he turns toward his mother, he slides his hand off of Hermann's wrist down to grab his hand. Hermann catches on quicker than Newt was expecting, curling their fingers together almost immediately. "We were, uh," and he can't actually think of anything to say, so he just smiles wide.

Mrs. Geiszler looks between Newt and Hermann, and the smile on her face falters. Shit. She doesn't like Hermann, he can already tell, shit, this is a disaster already, Hermann was right –-

"What in God's name happened to your _eyes_?" Mrs. Geiszler asks, and Newt realizes that he can breathe again, concurrently with the realization that he isn't breathing. Because this, at least, is a question he can answer.

"So you remember how I said I saved the world?" he starts, and he pulls Hermann through the door past his mother. He launches into a detailed telling of the final few days of the Kaiju War, placing special emphasis on the couple of times he almost died. As he's talking about him and Hermann drifting together with the baby kaiju, his father makes a surprised noise.

"You did that for our Newt?" he asks, his wide as he stares at Hermann.

Hermann shrinks into himself a bit, and Newt is sure he knows what he's about to say. He's going to say what he did at the time, that he wasn't doing it for Newt, he was doing it for the world, after all, under the circumstances, did he have any other choice?

"I could not let him do it alone," Hermann says, though, and he glances at Newt with a shy little smile, and Newt feels like he can't breathe, like he's been punched in the stomach, and he gapes a little.

But the moment ends when he notices his mother and his father grinning at each other, so he gathers his ordinary self and leans over into Hermann's personal space. "See, this is going to be a piece of cake," he whispers, gesturing toward his parents, and he grins.

Predictably, Hermann scowls and straightens back up, glaring at Newt.

But when Newt turns away, he can see Hermann out of the corner of his eye, smiling softly.

 

 

***

 

Newt is lying on his back on a partially deflated air mattress, staring at the ceiling. _He_ had wanted to sleep out on the couch in the front room, and leave Hermann to have the room to himself, but his mother had other plans. She was insistent that he use the air mattress she and his father had set up before he'd arrived, but he stills feels like that was a ridiculous request.

In what world is an air mattress more comfortable than a couch?

His mother is a talented persuader, though, so he is lying basically on the ground in the dim grey light of morning after the worst night of sleep he's had in years. It would have been easier to sleep on a metal dissecting table, honestly.

He is pulled from his musing by the buzzing of his phone against the hardwood floor next to him. Someone is texting him? Hermann is still sound asleep in the bed, so who would be texting him?

When he looks, it turns out to be an unknown number, and he considers ignoring it before he reads the message:

          hey is this dr geizler??

He narrows his eyes at the text, and now he has to respond, at least to correct whoever it is. There's no way he's letting anyone go around spelling his name wrong.

          Geiszler.  
          Who wants to know?

He sets his phone down and rolls so that he's lying on his side, but after only a moment he gets a response.

          sorry this is karla

And, okay, thanks, that's super helpful Karla, whoever _that_ is.

          ???

He has to wait a bit longer this time before she texts back.

          karla gottlieb

Newt stares at his phone, trying to figure out what he's reading, but another text soon follows.

          dont tell me hermanns never mentioned me

And now that he thinks about it, he does remember a Karla being mentioned in Hermann's personnel file, which he definitely never stole from off of Marshal Pentecost's desk, and certainly not because he was trying to steal his own and grabbed the wrong one by mistake. That did not happen. A blue-tinged image of a young girl standing imperiously on top of a swingset rises in his mind, and he makes the final leap of logic.

          You're his sister?

          yep

With the identification of the unknown number out of the way, Newt stores it in his phone as "Female Hermann" (for kicks and giggles) and makes a note to actually confirm the number when he is fully awake and has access to a computer, and then he decides that maybe it'll be easier to sleep on his stomach.

It's worth a try, at least.

 

 

***

 

"Okay, move over," Newt says the next night, standing by his bed in the dark.

It has been a long day of miraculously barely lying about how they met and how they "got together," which is pretty weird, to be honest, and Newt's neck is still killing him from trying to sleep on the hard floor.

"No," Hermann says without looking up at Newt, and he in fact pulls the blankets up around himself even tighter than they were the moment before.

"Please?" Newt says. "There's no way I'm sleeping on the floor again."

"You cannot sleep in this bed, Newton," Hermann says, and he gives Newt a dirty glare. " _I_ am sleeping in this bed."

"C'mon, we can both sleep in the bed, it's totally big enough!"

Hermann drags himself so he's sitting up on the bed and says, "That is not the issue I am concerned about," and if Newt isn't mistaken, he sounds kind of strained.

It is with that realization that Newt becomes acutely aware of the fact that all he's wearing at the moment is a pair of boxers decorated with little cartoon dog bones.

He stands there for a moment, shifting his weight a couple times before saying, sort of rushed, "I'm not going to make it weird, okay?"

Hermann stares at him with a horrified look on his face, and then says slowly, "You sleep like an octopus, Newton."

"Oh." Well, if it's only that, "I promise I won't?"

"You will."

Newt gives him his best pleading smile, so it's actually a pretty pathetic smile with way too much teeth, but it's the best he can do.

Hermann sighs and says, "Fine."

Newt's pleading smile turns into a real grin, and he says, "Cool, move over," and he shoves himself into the bed.

It takes a while for Newt to get settled, because first he has to get himself under the blankets that Hermann is hogging, and then he has to figure out the most comfortable spot on his side of the bed, and then he has to roll around until he's situated properly. And the whole while, Hermann is lying completely still and glaring at him. Like it's his fault Hermann can't sleep while he's settling into his own bed. What a big baby.

When he's been lying relatively still for a few minutes, Newt rolls over to look at Hermann, who is still lying stiffly on his back and staring at the ceiling. Well, it's either that, or Hermann sleeps with his eyes open, which, creepy. Newt's willing to bet that he doesn't, so he says, "This isn't the worst, now is it?"

Hermann looks over at him, and Newt has to squint in the darkness to see his skeptical expression. "This is the absolute worst sleeping arrangement in which I have ever participated."

Newt huffs in disbelief. "Really?" he says, "Try sleeping on the floor."

Hermann doesn't say anything in response to that, and instead goes back to staring at the ceiling.

"I was talking about my parents, anyway."

"Oh," Hermann says, but he doesn't look back at Newt. "Yes, they're quite pleasant. It's a wonder they raised someone as irritating as you."

"Hey!" Newt says, and he shoves at Hermann's shoulder. He doesn't have a very good angle, though, so this does nothing but push himself dangerously close to the edge of the bed. As he pulls himself back into a safer position, he finds that he is much closer to Hermann now, and from here he swears he can see  a smug smile on his face.

The alleged smile drops away, as Hermann says tiredly, "Go to sleep, Newt."

And you know, Newt really is very tired. So he shifts a bit until he isn't facing Hermann anymore, and he closes his eyes, and he doesn't think about how warm it is to sleep with another person in the bed, and he doesn't think about the warm feeling in his stomach that doesn't have anything to do with Hermann's presence, honestly, it doesn't.

And as he's drifting off to sleep, where he will inevitably dream in bright harsh blue, he definitely doesn't hear Hermann shifting somewhere behind him and getting subtly closer.

He certainly doesn't imagine Hermann saying, softly, like a whispered prayer meant for no god to hear, "No, I suppose it's not the worst at all."

  


Newt wakes up drooling, and there's a cool breeze over his back, so he must have kicked the blankets off during the night. The sun is barely up, and he is still heavy with sleep, so he tries to bury his face back into the pillow.

His pillow feels really weird, though, sort of like -– oh he's laying on Hermann. Okay. He blinks slowly and considers moving away, but.

But it's awfully warm right here, and if he moves he'll have to go find the blanket again, and that sounds like too much work. So he just settles himself down even further, and he can hear Hermann snoring softly, and he notices a warm spot on his back that's shaped suspiciously like Hermann's hand, and.

And this is nice.

Newt drifts back to sleep, to dream in soft, cool blue, and for the first time in nearly a year, he doesn't feel quite so incomplete.

 

 

***

 

"This is giving me a headache," Hermann says, gesturing toward the screen.

"Cloverfield is a classic," Newt replies, around a mouthful of popcorn. He glances at Hermann in time to catch his disgusted expression lit by a couple bright frames of the movie.

Hermann sighs. "There are hundreds of holiday specific films to choose from, and we are watching a _monster movie_." He looks to the screen and then back to Newt. "I suppose this tradition does explain a lot, though."

"Hey," Newt says, leaning forward to grab another handful of popcorn, "I resemble that remark."

He gets a vaguely amused sound from Hermann in response.

When he leans back up, instead of the expected couch, he finds himself pressed against Hermann's arm. He turns to Hermann in confusion, but Hermann only uses his other arm to gesture toward Newt's parents, who are ignoring them in favor of the movie.

His mother takes this moment to look over at them and grin, the way that she does, and Newt figures out what Hermann's doing.

And doing poorly, he might add.

He scooches himself closer to Hermann, so that any space between them is negligible. Hermann stiffens for a moment before he relaxes, and they fit together like two stones used to build one of those dry-stacked walls, where they don't use any mortar to keep it standing. Then, once Newt is sure his mother isn't looking, he takes Hermann's hand from his shoulder and slides it down to settle on his waist, where Hermann curls it. And so, there, they are properly "cuddling."

It's very… cozy.

Newt nearly rests his head against Hermann's shoulder before he catches himself. He is concerned to realize that he feels warm all over, not just where he's touching Hermann, and that awful sensation in his stomach is back. He wants to shake himself, to sit inside a freezer, to vomit in a plastic bag, anything to feel like he's a real person again, instead of this ball of lava hiding under his skin.

But not if he has to leave where he's sitting, with Hermann.

Very concerned, indeed.

Hermann turns his head very quickly back to the screen, and says, "If I throw up, the blame lies entirely on your poor taste in movies."

Newt smiles and sets his concerning feelings aside, and definitely does not squirm a little closer. "Just watch the movie, Hermann."

 

 

***

 

Newt dreams of destroying cities beneath the ocean, and he dreams of falling out of trees, and he dreams of licking chalk from his fingers, and he dreams of holding someone close.

 

 

***

 

"Your father's made duck!" Mrs. Geiszler yells from the kitchen.

Already seated at the table, Newt turns to Hermann excitedly, but Hermann has a slight frown on his face. "I have never had duck," he says quietly.

"You're in luck then," Newt says, clapping him on the shoulder. "My dad makes the absolute _best_ duck in the whole world."

"The best?" Hermann asks, still very unsure.

"The best," Newt confirms. "Ducks dream of one day getting cooked by my dad."

"That doesn't make any sense, Newt," Hermann says, turning his chair a bit to face more toward him. "Why would they look forward to something that involves their own death?"

"Hey, humans have all sorts of plans for what should happen to their bodies after death, why can't ducks?" Newt scoots his chair toward Hermann's, as well.

"Because ducks do not have any goals beyond preservation of themselves and their kin!"

"How do you know? Have you ever asked a duck?"

"We can't communicate with ducks, and you know it."

"You know, we could probably modify a -–"

"You are being absolutely ridiculous!" Hermann interrupts, and Newt realizes that they must have been leaning closer to each other with each argument.

Newt leans back into his chair and laces his fingers together behind his head. "You know you love it," he says, and grins.

Hermann grins back, and Newt's heart stops.

Hermann's smile is beautiful.

When he regains his pulse, he's able to process that, and as he continues to stare at Hermann's stupid face, he can't convince himself that he's wrong. Because it's not just that happiness is a good look on him, which it most certainly is, it's also that _Hermann_ is –-

Hermann is a work of art and how in the world has he never noticed before?

It feels like the universe is suddenly spread out before him and he can see the way it's expanding _ad infinitum_ , and he can see a whole galaxy pulling itself together impossibly slowly all the way at the edge, and he can see Earth wobbling on its axis as it barrels its way around the Sun, and he can see the vibrations of the subparticles of his own atoms as they threaten to fly apart and somehow never do. He can see the universe folded into itself, intersecting with all other universes, bridged together by an impossible number or Breaches, and there is their own being slowly rebuilt.

He can see Hermann, still grinning, and everything collapses into this moment.

It must show on his face, because Hermann's grin falters, but Newt still can't look away. Because, holy shit, what is he going to do now?

"Newt –-" Hermann starts, his beautiful smile replaced completely by a concerned frown, but then there's a loud buzzing noise and Newt jerks back into being a person.

It's his phone. He glances at it long enough to see that Karla has texted him, and then shuts it off. It's probably unimportant. She has started sending him links to kaiju related articles, which is strange, but whatever.

"Who was that?" Hermann asks, and he still looks concerned.

"Huh?" Newt says, stuffing his phone in his pocket. "Oh, no one."

Hermann opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn't have the chance before Mrs. Geiszler is parading in with a huge roast duck on a platter in her arms, and Hermann's attention is drawn to the food, as though he hadn't noticed how hungry he was until just now.

 

Later, when Newt is on his third helping and Hermann is still working through his first –- though he does admit that he has never tasted something so delicious – Newt finds himself tapping his foot against the nearest table leg. He's doing in it a familiar rhythm, but he can't quite recognize it. So he continues, trying to figure out the song he's now got stuck in his head and he's very close to figuring it out and –-

"Hör doch auf, Geiszler," Hermann hisses, and Newt freezes because the last time Hermann said that to him, he'd been screaming along to Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody at three in the morning, and he'd been sure Hermann was about to murder him. But, while Hermann may not be smiling, he does look almost fond, and Newt realizes that it's a joke.

Or, well, mostly a joke. Newt is probably being pretty annoying.

"Ich habe einen Ohrwurm," he hisses back, and now Hermann smiles, just a little bit.

"Newton!" Mrs. Geiszler says, tearing Newt's attention away from Hermann. "You didn't tell us he spoke German!" And she's grinning, and Newt can't help but feel strangely proud, of Hermann.

"Yeah, he does!" he says, and his mother's enthusiasm is contagious. "I sure picked a good one, huh?"

Hermann makes a strange noise at that, and when Newt glances over at him, he can't decipher the expression on his face. But it's not a bad expression, and there's still a bit of a smile, so maybe it's not that important what exactly it means, at least not right now.

"Nun, verlier diesen nicht," Mrs. Geiszler says, "wir mögen ihn."

And Newt flushes bright pink, and he's grinning, and he can see Hermann grinning beside him, and.

Fuck, he's lost, isn't he?

 

 

***

 

There isn't any snow, which is a shame.

Hermann doesn't agree, and he's taking advantage of the pleasant weather by sitting in the large seated swing by the back porch and staring out at the Geiszlers' backyard.

Newt has been standing by the backdoor, staring at the back of Hermann's head and about to say something for -– he has no idea how long he's been standing here.

"What is it, Newt?" Hermann finally says, and he doesn't even look back to check.

Newt comes to stand in front of the swing and almost says never mind, it was nothing, or maybe he was just admiring the view, when his brain snags on something.

"You called me Newt."

Hermann frowns, confused. "It is your name, is it not?" he says.

"But," Newt starts, and then he stops to think, and maybe Hermann's been calling him Newt this whole time? He can't be sure, now.

Hermann is looking at him like he's crazy, and maybe he is.

"Hey," Newt says, instead, "I want to show you something." And he offers Hermann his hand.

Which Hermann ignores, grabbing his cane and sliding off the swing to the ground. Newt grabs his hand anyway, and drags him out into the yard. He grumbles and stumbles a bit behind Newt, but he manages to keep up.

Newt comes to a stop in front of an old tree, which holds a decently-sized wooden tree house. He doesn't drop Hermann's hand, and he half-consciously rubs his thumb back and forth. Hermann shivers a bit, and Newt supposes it is still colder than perfectly comfortable.

"You built this," Hermann says. It isn't a question, just a statement.

"C'mon," Newt says, and he tugs on Hermann's hand again, stepping closer to the tree.

Hermann stays rooted in place, pulling back against Newt's tugging. "There is no way I am climbing into that death trap."

"Hey," Newt says, "it's a perfectly fine building. I'm an engineer, you know."

"No, you aren't."

Newt wrinkles his nose. "I have two engineering doctorates."

Hermann raises an eyebrow. "Biochemical and electrical, if I'm not mistaken."

Newt shifts his weight guiltily. "Well, Uncle Gunter did most of the actual building, anyway."

"And I'm sure he's an engineer, as well." Hermann doesn't do him the favor of lowering his skeptical eyebrow.

"He is!"

"Really." Hermann blinks at Newt, still unconvinced. "What kind?"

Newt waits for a beat, then says, drawn out like it will be more impressive that way, "Musical."

"Of course," Hermann says, and he smiles.

"So you'll come up?" Newt asks.

Hermann sighs, and he's still smiling. "Why not? If it collapses while we're up there, at least you will also die, and that is really all that I can ask."

"Great!" Newt says, and Hermann winces, like he's already regretting his decision.

 

After climbing up into the tree house -– which involves some frankly undignified shoving to get Hermann inside –- Newt stands in the middle of the room and spreads his arms wide.

"I present to you," he announces, "my childhood."

What he's really presenting, of course, is a musty room with no windows, a ceiling that's just low enough to make Hermann stoop, an old tie dye beanbag sitting in the middle, and bits of circuit boards scattered across the floor.

"Charming," Hermann says, glancing around.

"When I was little, I used to build radios up here," Newt says, and he crouches down to inspect a bit of circuitry, maybe figure out what he'd been working on last, but it crumbles in his fingers.

"Really," Hermann says, but he's paying more attention to an old physics textbook open on the floor. Something across the room catches his attention, and he limps toward that, taking care not to hit his head.

"Oh, yeah," Newt says as he searches for a piece of the circuit board that won't disintegrate. "I also ran a numbers station out of here for a while, back in high school, but -–"

"What's this?" Hermann interrupts.

Newt jerks his head up to see him standing over by the wall, with his hand on the plasticy white sheet covering a large rectangular object.

"Wait, don't -–" Newt says, standing up abruptly to cross the room, but he's too late. The sheet slides to the floor, revealing a bookshelf lined with books with brightly colored spines. He winces as he crouches beside Hermann, who is kneeling on his good knee and flipping through a volume.

" _Bleach_?" Hermann asks, turning to look at Newt.

"Yeah," Newt says, and yanks the book out of Hermann's hands.

"You have forty-seven volumes of _Bleach_ in here."

Newt waves his hands at the bookshelf. "As you can see, I enjoyed my manga as a child."

Hermann makes a noncommittal sound. "And you were clearly the life of the party."

"Psh, like you can talk, with your little toy planes," Newt huffs.

"My models provided me with much insight into the field of aerodynamics and allowed me to develop a habit of paying attention to minutiae, unlike some people I know," Hermann says, and it occurs to Newt that he might be fucking with him.

"Well, at least my hobby was fun," Newt says, leaning toward Hermann and making a face. "Not that you know what fun is like."

Hermann stares back flatly, but he doesn't say anything and -– if Newt's not mistaken -– he's doing his best to hold back a smile.

Newt wants the argument to continue, but Hermann really isn't giving him anything, just staring with his eyebrows raised slightly, and growing a bit more fond by the second. Newt, by contrast, is gaping a bit as thoughts race through his head, comebacks to things Hermann hasn't said yet, how much it will cost for his next tattoo, how little light is coming through the spaces between the slats of the ceiling, what might happen if he leans a little closer.

It's that last thought that keeps repeating, louder and louder in the slurry of noise inside his head, so he does. He leans forward and Hermann blinks in surprise, frowns a little bit, but does not back away, and –-

The whole tree house shudders, and Hermann falls backward as his cane clatters to the floor.

"What the _hell_ was that?" Hermann says as he sits up, reaching for his cane.

Newt scrambles to his feet and helps Hermann up, saying, "Yeah, I don't actually know what the weight capacity of this thing is, so…"

"You're going to be the death of me," Hermann mutters, and he glares at Newt. "I'm not spending another second in this death trap."

"Ugh, fine," Newt groans.

 

Later, when they're back on solid ground, Newt keeps catching Hermann looking at him, like Newt is a puzzle he needs to solve, but he's missing an important piece.

Newt knows the feeling.

 

 

***

 

And then the package arrives.

It's just a plain cardboard box, but when Mrs. Geiszler brings it out, saying "Hermann, look what just came for you!" all the blood leaves his face at the sight of it.

"Who's it from?" he demands, grabbing at the box without waiting for an answer.

Newt tries to look over his shoulder at the label, but Hermann keeps turning to keep him away.

"Karla?" Hermann mutters to himself. "How in the world did she know where I am?"

"Oh, it's just your sister?" Newt says, and he steps back, satisfied.

Hermann whips around. "What do you know about this?" he asks, shoving toward Newt with the package.

Newt raises his eyebrows, because he can see the blood quickly rushing back into Hermann's face, which is never a good sign. "Uh, I may have sent her the address?" he offers.

"You've been speaking to my _sister_?" Hermann hisses, and he lets the package fall to the floor with a soft thud. "What in God's name could have possessed you to contact her?"

"Nothing!" Newt says. "She texted _me_ , Jesus Christ."

Hermann takes an angry step closer to Newt, who instinctively steps back. "And you thought it was _appropriate_ to share my location with her?"

"God, it's not like I had any reason not to!"

"That is hardly a sufficient excuse for going behind my back to speak -–"

"Hey, maybe if you would talk about your family sometime I would have known you didn't –-"

"Maybe if you had a speck of social graces you could have understood the implication –-"

"Oh, you're going to lecture me about social graces! That is absolutely _rich_ coming from someone who's -–"

"Someone who's what?" Hermann stabs at Newt with his cane, and Newt swats it away even as he takes another backward step.

"Wow, let me finish a goddamn sentence for once!"

"You are _always_ interrupting me, it is past time that someone returns –-"

"Freeze!" Mrs. Geiszler yells, and, surprisingly enough, Newt and Hermann both comply, if only from the shock.

"Well, now we know where you got it from," Hermann says, under his breath.

Newt shoots him a glare before turning back to his mother. " _What_ , Ma?"

Mrs. Geiszler says nothing, only points at something above the two of them.

Newt snaps his head back to look, and Hermann follows suit half a second later. " _Fuck_."

They are standing in the doorway that leads out to the hall, and attached securely to the doorframe is a large clump of mistletoe.

And Mrs. Geiszler is looking at them, expectantly.

Hermann flushes an angry lobster red, and Newt sighs. He has a complaint ready on his tongue ("Honestly, now is not the time for this, mother!") and he is about to open his mouth to let it out, when.

His back is against the doorframe -– _how did that happen_ –- and he's staring into Hermann's very angry eyes. He has time to note that Hermann's hand is bunched up in his shirt before Hermann is basically attacking his face with his mouth. There's simply no other way to describe it.

Well, "nice" is a surprisingly apt word, it turns out, even as teeth dig into Newt's lip and he has to bite back to keep from swearing. Because as much as it feels like an argument -– which Hermann is definitely winning, Newt is not ashamed to admit -– it also feels, well, comfortable. Like they're back in the lab, each trying to convince the other that his data are useless, only instead of yelling and occasionally throwing things, they're sticking their tongues down each others' throats.

So, not _that_ much different.

By now, Newt's gotten over the initial shock, and he brings a hand up to rest on Hermann's neck. Hermann shivers and makes a choking noise, and the kiss softens a bit. Newt hums and pulls Hermann in closer, and -– miracle of miracles –- Hermann follows without complaint. Newt vaguely registers how warm he feels, and how, for once, the creature living in his stomach is content, like he has finally done what it wants.

There's that saying about good things, though, and all too soon Hermann is pulling away. Newt doesn't make a pathetic noise as they break apart, but he does lean forward in a half-assed attempt to follow Hermann. When he looks up, though, Hermann is staring at him, eyes wide and all his weight concentrated on his cane, like he doesn't trust himself with it. Newt frowns, and he feels like he should say something, but all that's coming to mind is, "Holy shit," and somehow that doesn't seem appropriate.

They continue to stare at each other, and finally Newt's brain starts to work well enough to recognize the expression on Hermann's face as horrified. And, shit, that is not good, so he takes a step forward, but Hermann stumbles back, knocking into the other side of the doorframe.

"Hermann," Newt tries to say, but Hermann gives him a panicked glance over his shoulder and scrambles his way out into the hallway. Newt reaches out and the rest of him is about to follow when his mother, of all people, grabs his arm and holds him in place. "Hey," he says, weakly.

His mother levels a look at him. "It seems to me," she says, "that Hermann needs his space right now."

"Yeah," Newt whines, "but I need to talk to him right now, so," but he stays put, shifting his weight uneasily.

"Do you want to tell me what that was about?" Mrs. Geiszler asks after a few moments.

"I can honestly say," Newt answers, "that I have no idea what just happened."

Mrs. Geiszler hums in thought and taps her foot. She looks over her son, squinting appraisingly, and then says, "How about you and I make this place a bit more festive?"

"And take down the mistletoe?"

She sighs. "And take down the mistletoe."

 

 

***

 

So Newt strings up Christmas lights and takes down the mistletoe, while his mother gives the occasional bit of direction. Every once in a while, his father shouts some piece of news he's read from the kitchen, and it feels like every Christmas Newt has ever spent at home.

And then he finishes and he is itching to go look for Hermann, but his mother just shakes her head at him.

So then Newt organizes their collection of DVDs, alphabetically by title, then chronologically by original release date of the film.

Then Newt sits at the kitchen table and completes fifty sudoku puzzles on his tablet.

Then Newt does four loads of laundry, while reading numerous feminist analyses of 90s cartoons.

Then Newt starts writing a program that analyzes the use of slang in an input file to determine what era the writer grew up in. He doesn't run any of Hermann's papers through it.

Then Newt organizes their DVD collection by the color of the cases' spines, then by the age of the director at the time of filming.

Then Newt, with only a few DVDs left to put back on the shelf, throws down the DVD in his hand, says "Fuck it," and goes in search of Hermann.

Hermann is not in the bedroom, or in the bathroom. He's also not in Newt's parents' room, or in their bathroom, or in their closet. He's not in Newt's closet either, it turns out.

Hermann is not in the sound-proofed studio that the builder advertised as the third bedroom, nor is he in the garage. He isn't in the basement, and he hasn't snuck back into any of the rooms Newt already checked.

Hermann is not in the house, and Newt is having trouble focusing.

Newt hasn't seen him in literally hours, he could have left at any time, there is absolutely no way track him down at this point, he could be anywhere, he could have left the city, he could have left the _state_ , fuck, he could have _left the country_ by now.

Newt doesn't even notice as he starts to shake, everything's kind of greyed out and blurry, and he's got somewhere to be, he's not sure where but he's headed there anyway. He finds himself stumbling past his parents, who look mildly concerned. Fuck, Hermann is gone and they're _mildly_ _concerned_ , what is wrong with them?

He doesn't dwell on it long, though, because he has made his way to the back door, and now he's out on the porch and the sudden cold air just makes him shiver even more, is it really late enough to be cold? The darkness just outside the porch light, the darkness he's walking into, seems to say, "Yes. Yes, it is that late," but also it's winter, it gets dark in the afternoon, that's no way to judge time.

And now he's climbing up into the treehouse, feeling like he's thirteen, like he's waiting to hear back from colleges and hoping they don't take his application as a joke, not again. He is halfway to his beanbag chair before he hears the click-clack of computer keys and notices that, instead of the pitch dark one would expect in an empty treehouse, the room is lit by the distinctive glow of an old LCD screen.

"We get Wi-Fi up here?" slips out of Newt's mouth before his brain even connects what he's seeing with the fact that the treehouse must, necessarily, not be empty.

"No," Hermann replies, and Newt's brain is having a difficult time processing what he's seeing. "Which is precisely why I'm here," he continues, while Newt stands frozen in shock.

After a moment of silence from Newt, Hermann looks up from his screen, saying, "Was there a point to your visit?"

Newt frowns. "You didn't leave," he says.

"I didn't –-" Hermann cuts out and stands up carefully, sliding his laptop to the ground so it better illuminates the room. "What are you talking about?"

Newt doesn't say anything, just stares and frowns blankly.

"Newt, are you alright?" Hermann asks, and all of a sudden he's standing right by Newt, when did he cross the room?

"Yeah, yeah, I'm cool," Newt says, but he lets Hermann take his arm and draw him down until he's sitting on the floor.

"Newt," Hermann says, and now he's also sitting on the floor, in front of Newt. "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't leave," Newt says again, futilely. He searches Hermann's face for an explanation, but in the strange light all he finds is an inexplicable kindness in his eyes, and that surely can't be right.

"Why would I leave?" Hermann asks, like he honestly doesn't understand. "Where would I even go?"

"I don't know," Newt mutters, and he's about a second away from flopping dramatically to the floor when he remembers he's already there, and settles for glaring at Hermann instead. "You stomped out of there pretty quickly this morning."

"I -–" Hermann starts.

"And then my _mother_ wouldn't let me go talk to you," Newt continues, as if Hermann hadn't said anything, "and then I couldn't find you, so you must have left." He frowns. "I once got bored and went to Canada, and my parents only noticed when I didn't show up for dinner."

Hermann stares, then says, "I'm sorry."

"Nah, man," Newt says, and leans back onto his elbows. "It was pretty fun, actually. Did you know they call Canadian bacon back bacon?"

Hermann gapes a bit, then says, "Have you finished with your panic attack? Because I would like to properly apologize."

Newt hurriedly pushes himself back up. "I wasn't having a panic attack," he insists. "I was just…"

"Panicking?"

"Shut up," Newt says, shoving half-heartedly at Hermann's shoulder. "I believe you were saying something about apologizing?"

Hermann brushes Newt's hand away and rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. "I am sorry for running out like that," he says, "but I was extraordinarily angry with you, and -– perhaps," this he punctuates with a wag of his index finger, "a bit panicked myself."

"Panicked?" Newt asks, making a face. "Panicked about what?"

Hermann huffs out a small laugh. "I had just made a fool of myself, if you hadn't noticed."

"I hadn't!" Newt leans forward and grins. "You're a hell of a kisser, Hermann."

It's hard to tell in this light, but Newt would swear that Hermann turns red, and really, if he keeps this up he's going to stay that color. Or does that only work with expressions?

"You're the first to think so," Hermann is saying, and that is a goddamn shame.

"That is a goddamn shame," Newt says.

Hermann blinks at him, then says, "I'm glad you agree," and smiles that stupid little smile of his.

Newt snorts, and Hermann keeps smiling. And he just looks so stupidly fond that Newt really has no choice but to push himself up onto his knees and kiss him. Hermann doesn't even have the decency the act surprised, he just flutters his eyes closed and grabs onto Newt's arm.

"Your apology is accepted, by the way," Newt pulls away to say.

"You are too kind," Hermann says, and he pulls Newt back in.

After a few minutes, Hermann's laptop makes a whirring noise and the treehouse goes black.

They scramble around in the darkness while Hermann fumbles to get his computer to turn back on. ("How long does your screensaver go for, dude?" "Long enough to deal with distractions. Usually.") By the time it's possible to see again, Newt is sitting in the old beanbag, trying to settle into it.

"This seemed so much more comfortable the last time I was in it," he says.

Hermann, having found his cane somewhere in the dark, makes his way to stand in front of Newt. "It was also significantly 'cooler' then, as well, I'm sure."

"So cool, man. I was the envy of the neighborhood."

"Of course."

They stare at each other for a long moment, both flushed bright pink and breathing more heavily than normal. It's Newt who caves first, throwing up his arms and saying, "God, will you please sit down or something? Your standing there is wigging me out."

Hermann scoffs and mutters something about Newt's constant irrationality, but he carefully lowers himself to the ground nonetheless. It looks to Newt like he's trying to frown, but he keeps looking up at him from under his lashes and starting to smile.

Newt grins, and, after a few seconds, Hermann gives in and smiles back, and then they're just grinning at each other like idiots.

"Hold on," Hermann says, the smile freezing on his face. "I was angry with you."

Newt sighs, and his grin drops away. "Yeah, but it was stupid."

"It wasn't stupid," Hermann asserts, "You violated my privacy by speaking to my _sister_ behind my back!"

"She sent you a gift, though!" Newt says, leaning forward. "You know who gets mad about free shit, Hermann? Crazy people."

Hermann opens his mouth to respond, but Newt isn't done yet.

"And what's with the way you say 'sister'? Like she's Voldemort or something?"

Hermann narrows his eyes. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"Try explaining anyway," Newt says, half challenge and half actual request.

Hermann sighs. "What you must understand," he starts, "is that Karla is a very," he pauses, searching for a word, " _forceful_ woman."

"It's okay," Newt says, "you can just say 'huge bitch.' I won't judge."

"Be quiet," Hermann says. "Do you want an explanation or not?"

Newt raises his hands in mock surrender.

Hermann glares, but continues. "Ever since we were children, she has had a way of always getting what she wanted. Often when it was something that I also wanted." He pauses, presumably to foster dramatic tension, then says, "Occasionally simply because it was something that I wanted."

Comprehension slowly dawns on Newt, even as Hermann looks down at the floor, clearly embarrassed. "And I was something that you wanted," he says, "and you thought…" He trails off and a grin starts to spread over his face.

Hermann glances up at Newt, and says, "Yes. Quite," and he smiles softly.

So Newt does what any sensible person would, and leans over out of his beanbag, and kisses him.

 

 

***

 

"This place is a zoo," Hermann says, incredulous as he looks at the chaos around him.

"This place is a market," Newt corrects, humming a little under his breath and pulling Hermann along.

"That man is selling chameleons painted to look like kaiju," Hermann says.

"What?" Newt looks around, "Where?"

Hermann makes a disgusted noise, but continues. "How in the world are you supposed to find what you are looking for?"

"Ah," Newt says, raising a finger facetiously, "you see, the trick is not to be looking for anything."

"That doesn't make sense."

"You don't make sense," Newt shoot back, but then he gestures wildly. "No, but you have to wait for your purchase to call out for you!"

Hermann raises an eyebrow.

"Can't you hear it? Somewhere out there," Newt gestures again, "some suitable gifts for my parents are just screaming our names!"

"Are you certain you weren't dropped on the head as a child?"

Newt makes a face. "Whatever, No-Fun MacGunderson."

The two of them bicker as they wander between stalls, taking only cursory glances of the contents, because Newt was serious about his shopping style. Miraculously, they do actually find something for his parents, and Hermann grabs a stupid souvenir for Tendo, because he would complain if he didn't get _something_.

At one point, Newt scurries off with a hurried, "I'll be _right_ back," and by the time he returns ten minutes later, both he and Hermann have mysterious little paper bags that they each pretend not to notice.

 

 

***

 

If Hermann seems confused as Newt theatrically exclaims, "Oh, man, you shouldn't have!" and unwraps a cheap plastic kid's microscope, well, it _is_ a pretty weird tradition.

He doesn't make it much better by tossing the microscope aside and reaching out with lobster claws. "Okay, real present, now."

Mr. and Mrs. Geiszler just smile, and Mr. Geiszler pulls a lumpy package out of nowhere.

"Oh, sweet," Newt says, tearing into the bright wrapping paper, "socks!"

Hermann makes a disbelieving noise beside him, his eyes wide, as though he is in completely unfamiliar territory. Knowing him, he probably is.

Newt knocks his foot against Hermann's ankle, and now Hermann is glaring at him, but at least now he looks less like a lost duckling.

"Hermann, this is for you," Mrs. Geiszler says, handing over a slender, neatly wrapped box.

He accepts it warily, and he picks at the tape holding the wrapping together.

"God, you're such a nerd," Newt says, as Hermann pulls the paper off, completely intact, revealing a notebook-sized piece of blackboard.

"Oh," Hermann says, as though he's surprised by the gift. "Thank you."

Mrs. Geiszler beams. "Newt's told us all about your chalkboards."

"Has he, now?" Hermann narrows his eyes at Newt.

"Hey!" Newt exclaims, and he reaches over Hermann to grab two brightly wrapped presents, which he then offers to his parents. Though his parents are distracted by this, Hermann isn't, and he continues to glare until Newt nudges at his shoulder and he reluctantly smiles.

"Oh, this is just lovely!" Mrs. Geiszler says, having already peeled the haphazard wrapping from her gift. She turns the book over in her hands, flipping through pages of beautiful illustrations interspersed amongst ornately set musical scores. The gold lettering on the book's cover proclaims it to be Tchaikovsky's _Swan Lake_.

"Hermann picked it out," Newt says.

"Yes," Hermann agrees. "It. It jumped out at me," he admits, giving Newt a small, fond glance.

"I suppose this is Newt's doing, then?" Mr. Geiszler interrupts, holding up his gift, a small lap harp.

"What?" Newt scrambles so that he's leaning forward from his seat on the couch. "That is a perfectly acceptable gift!"

"I don't play the harp," Mr. Geiszler says flatly.

"Yet!" Newt says, then pauses. "I think technically it's a zither, anyway..."

"You are an awful person, Newton," Hermann says, but he leans forward, ending up pressed against Newt's side, warm and solid.

Newt mock gasps. "You wound me, dude," he says, and he procures a gift bag from near his feet, though he is startled to find it sitting on top of another present. "Uh, is this...?" he asks, holding it up in confusion.

"That's for you," Hermann says, refusing to meet Newt's eyes. He accepts his own gift and starts pulling out tissue paper without even commenting on the laziness of Newt's packaging, so Newt knows something is up.

This something turns out to be a thin comic book, entitled "VK-Day," with a brightly colored rendition of Hong Kong Bay gracing the cover.

" _Dude_ ," Newt says, flipping it open, as Hermann simultaneously asks, "Where in the world did you find this?" and holds up a mechanical calculator, its coverplate rusting in spots from years of improper storage.

Newt only waggles his eyebrows stupidly in response.

Hermann rolls his eyes and scoffs, but then he smiles and says, "Newt, this was a," and he pauses and gestures to the calculator, "a really thoughtful gift. Thank you." He sounds a bit surprised, which is fair.

"It's got nothing on this, though," Newt says, holding his new comic book open to a full page spread, splashed with dark grey and bright blue. It appears to be depicting Newt and Hermann and the baby kaiju, about to drift together.

Hermann covers his face with both hands in shame. "They don't even look like us."

He can't harsh Newt's buzz though. "No man, this is so great, though!" Newt says shoving the book at Hermann's still covered face. "I told you we'd be rockstars!"

Hermann peeks out from between his fingers to smile and say, "Yes, you did."

In the meantime, Newt's parents have exchanged their own gifts, and a silence descends on the room as everyone becomes acutely aware that the only gift remaining is the cardboard box from Karla Gottlieb.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Newt slides off the couch and approaches the box as a sane person would a wild animal. (Newt, generally, approaches a wild animal in a much less cautious manner.)  He carries it by his fingertips over to Hermann, and it's lighter than he was expecting.

Hermann looks pale and green-tinged, but he takes the box without much reluctance when Newt offers it to him. He pulls at the box's flaps, and the only sound is the tearing of cardboard as the Geiszlers all hold their breaths watching.

At long last, the box is open, and.

And Hermann is laughing, like hysterical, tear-producing laughter.

Newt and his parents share a concerned frown, but then Newt looks in the box and starts laughing, too, and his parents look about ready to call for an ambulance.

"It's," Newt chokes out, "a stupid coat."

"We were fighting because of a coat," Hermann says, breathless with incredulous laughter. "A coat!"

"Hey, hold on," Newt says, reaching over into Hermann's lap to pull a little white notecard from the box. "Oh my god," he says, then reads, "'I can't believe you wore that awful old coat on television; you better not do it again. Love, Karla.'"

"This is ridiculous," Hermann proclaims, snatching the notecard out of Newt's hands.

"Yeah," Newt agrees, and he looks at Hermann and gets a little overwhelmed by how silly he looks, making faces at a piece of paper while still struggling to stop his hysterical giggling. So he leans up and kisses him, and god, he is never going to be over being able to do that.

"What was that for?" Hermann asks when they break apart.

"Oh, you know." Newt shrugs. "Merry Christmas and whatever."

And Hermann smiles.

 

 


End file.
